


If This RV Is Jingle Bell Rockin', Don't Come Knockin'

by sarken



Category: The Closer
Genre: Christmas, Episode: Living Proof Parts 1-2, F/F, Femslash Exchange 2015, Fluff and Smut, Sweet Potato Casserole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5016076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Christmas dinner, Brenda and Sharon steal some time in the Johnsons' RV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If This RV Is Jingle Bell Rockin', Don't Come Knockin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parcequelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/gifts).



> Thank you so much to [aliya](http://ao3.org/users/aliya) for the beta.

Brenda only means to step out of the break room for a minute, just long enough to collect the last of the dirty dishes from their holiday meal. But when she steps from the harsh light of the corridor, she's struck again by how cozy her mama's made the Murder Room look.

It's bathed in the glow of Christmas lights, and Brenda can hear the sound of laughter and dishes being washed coming from down the hall. If she lets her eyes unfocus, and squints just a little, it's almost like Christmas at home. She smiles serenely as she gathers the dishes, pausing to run a finger along the inside of a heavy stoneware dish. No matter how full she is, she can never resist, and she's just slipping the bite of sweet potato casserole past her lips when the sound of heels on the floor tiles interrupts her daydream.

"I thought you said I burnt the marshmallows," Sharon says from a few steps behind her.

Brenda sucks the last of the sweetness from her finger. "I did," she says, dipping her finger back into the bowl. "I just happen to like 'em that way."

She looks over her shoulder with a wicked smile, makes sure Sharon is watching her remove the sweet potato from her finger with teeth and tongue. Even in the dim lighting, Brenda can see the way she swallows hard.

She turns back to the bowl, smirking as Sharon steps closer, her body just barely touching Brenda's back.

"Want some?" Brenda asks, extending her finger so Sharon can see it above her shoulder.

"No," Sharon says, her voice low. She rests her fingers so lightly on Brenda's waist that Brenda shivers even before she feels soft lips against her neck. "But I suppose it will have to do."

Brenda nearly moans at the warm heat of Sharon's mouth sliding over her finger, has to press her other hand against the table as she feels her knees go weak. She never thought Sharon would do this here.

When Sharon bites lightly at the pad of her finger, Brenda moans her name, breaking it into syllables like a scold.

It makes Sharon laugh, and the vibration races to Brenda's core, and then Sharon is pulling away too soon.

"You offered," Sharon reminds her, a whisper near Brenda's ear.

"Now, what are you girls whispering about out here?" Willie Rae's voice behind them makes them jump apart.

"Mama," Brenda says, her face going hot. She turns around, tries to be subtle about keeping one hand behind her so she can wipe her finger on the tablecloth.

Sharon recovers faster. "Brenda and I were just -- that is, Brenda..."

Sharon is a terrible liar, as bad at the execution as she is at the invention, and Brenda jumps in to save them both. "Was just offering to take Sharon down and show her your RV. You know, so we could look over the scene of the crime together."

Willie Rae's eyes narrow. "Now, Brenda Leigh, I know exactly what you are up to."

The blood that rushed into Brenda's face moments ago quickly drains back out. "You -- you do?"

"Of course I do," Willie Rae says. "You're trying to get out of helping with the dishes."

Brenda nearly sighs in relief. She can work with that. "Oh, Mama," she says with a whine, "it's Christmas."

"For you _and_ for everyone helping with the dishes," Willie Rae says.

"But they didn't have their presents stolen." When Willie Rae looks at her for too long, Brenda puts on a pout and tilts her head.

"All right," Willie Rae says, but Brenda can tell from the slow drawl of her words that she's reluctant to agree. "Your father and I really could use that microwave back for the drive home. The RV won't fit through many drive-thrus, and with your father's heart --"

"We will do our very best, Mama, I promise," Brenda interrupts with a smile, touching Willie Rae's arm as she steps past her on the way to the door. She's stepping into the elevator by the time Sharon catches up.

"Petty theft is a little below our pay grade, Chief." Sharon leans against the wall and crosses her arms.

"Then good thing we don't need to investigate any," Brenda says. She doesn't wait for Sharon to figure it out. "Tell me, Captain, have you ever had sex inside a Class A motorhome?"

Five minutes later, Brenda is changing Sharon's answer to a yes, pressing her against a counter, working a hand into her pants. There's lace beneath her fingertips, then the heat of Sharon's body, and Brenda wishes they had time for more. She wants to unwrap her, to see the lace, taste her heat, do more than make her tremble with a finger against her clit.

"Chief." Sharon's breath hitches, her rings clicking against the Formica countertop as she fumbles for something to grip. "God -- Brenda. Brenda," she pants, push-pulling at Brenda's hips.

Her fingers grip, clutch, _twist_ the fabric of Brenda's dress before letting go, leaving it hot and damp against Brenda's skin. Brenda can't help but shiver as Sharon's hands skim up her sides, slipping beneath her cardigan, before Sharon says Brenda's name again, her hands at Brenda's shoulders, pushing off her sweater and dragging it down her arms.

It catches at Brenda's elbows, and Sharon groans.

" _Chief_ ," she says, once, twice, and it's as urgent as Sharon gets, enough to make Brenda freeze, look at Sharon with concern.

Sharon looks back with half-focused eyes and a smirk. "Good as this is, Chief, I cannot _possibly_ come with those appliqué birds _staring_ at me."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Brenda says, but she yanks off her sweater, balling it up and tossing it away. Her hand slides back into Sharon's pants, and this time, she pushes the lace aside, sinks her fingers into her deep.

Sharon is hot, tight, and wet, exactly like she's supposed to be, but Brenda knows her body, knows this angle is all wrong. Sharon will never come like this, not even with Brenda's sweater gone, but Brenda still leads her right up to the edge, gets her gasping and panting and grasping the counter again. She loves seeing Sharon like this, out of control and undone, coming moments after Brenda's fingers return to her clit. She's all parted lips and scrunched-shut eyes, and Brenda leans in to bite sharp little kisses up her neck until she sighs.

Slowly, Brenda pulls back, slips her hand from Sharon's pants. Her fingers are slick, shining with moisture from Sharon's body, and she holds them up for Sharon to see.

This time, Brenda doesn't need to ask.

Smirking, Sharon leans in.


End file.
